


Richer than milk, sweeter than honey

by redroseinsanity



Series: Hold your breath, count to ten [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: All the characters in the 2nd half of this series is that 'mark me down as scared and horny' meme, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, As you can tell I cannot stay away from romance even when pushing for horror, Fae & Fairies, Faerie! Kenma, M/M, The kuroken is strong with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity
Summary: Everyone always tells you not to give your name to a faerie, but nobody ever told Tetsurou not to give his heart.Alternatively: How to bargain with a faerie and accidentally fall in love
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Hold your breath, count to ten [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980692
Comments: 34
Kudos: 181
Collections: Haikyuu Horror Week, Recommended KuroKen Fics





	Richer than milk, sweeter than honey

**Author's Note:**

> For Haikyuu Horror Week 2020!
> 
> This is my first time writing horror so I’m excited but also apologetic if this is not on par with your expectations. In that vein, I’m not sure if I’m tagging this as well as I should be, so if at any point you feel like you want to nope out, please do!
> 
> This is going to be a ficlet, I said. I'll cap it at 1.5k words, I said. Gimme that dunce cap.

**Day 9:**

**cold to the touch / a taste of poison / ~~do your eyes deceive you?~~ /always getting what you want / ~~target the weak~~ / slow but deadly**

The first time Tetsurou goes, it’s for his mother. She has a worrying cough, the kind that ends in breathless gasps and garners pitying looks from their fellow villagers. Although Tetsurou is only ten, he knows what this means, and he knows that if she does not recover by the time winter rolls around, she may not recover at all. 

So he goes, deep into the forest just like the old lady from the tiniest hut in the village told him, looking for a faerie ring. He’s already fallen twice, with scrapes on his knees and a stinging scratch on his chin to prove it, but on he pushes, his mother’s hacking echoing in his ears. 

He nearly sees the faerie ring too late, almost stepping into the circle of harmless looking toadstools before jerking backwards and nearly toppling off balance again, but he braces himself on a sturdy tree trunk and takes two careful steps back.

 _“Where there is a faerie ring means there may be fae nearby.”_ He nods to himself as he recalls the old lady’s words and quickly sets out his meager offerings of the small portion of milk and broken off bit of honeycomb that he filched from the dwindling stores of his house. It’s not much, he thinks despondently, but this is the best he can do. 

Although his hands tremble, he doesn’t spill anything as he sets the items down on the grass and draws a steadying breath to recite the words he was taught. 

He’s only halfway through the stanza that he memorised when he senses the weight of a gaze, turns to discover a pair of cool, golden eyes on him from above and yelps, involuntarily retreating before forcing himself to stay put and planting his feet firmly on the ground. 

For a brief second, Tetsurou gapes at the being, neither young nor old, power radiating from the petite frame and amber eyes bemused. 

"Are you a faerie?" Tetsurou finds his voice and tries to keep it from trembling too much. Even so, when the being leans from the branch they're on to peer at Tetsurou, he instinctively shrinks away before summoning all his courage and standing tall. 

Again, the spark of amusement is evident in those glittering eyes that speak volumes in a way that the rest of the tiny, pointed face does not. 

"And if I am?" The possible faerie's voice is light, like a leaf drifting to the ground in autumn or the whisper of the field as the wind careens past it. 

"I need your help," Tetsurou wishes he is as confident as he imagines himself to be but he just sounds scared, "Please."

The creature that looks remarkably human-like albeit the cat-like eyes and the unusual dress, hops down and inspects Tetsurou's gifts, dipping a finger in the milk to taste and sniffing the honeycomb. 

"What do you want?" A question that makes Tetsurou sag in relief, but the next question makes him straighten in panic, "What will you give me in return?"

"I- My mother, she's sick," He blurts, anxiety crawling up his throat, "Please make her well. In exchange, I- I'm not sure what I have of value."

A sly grin, a light approach, so soundless that Tetsurou doesn't hear footsteps at all. 

"How about your name?"

Dread pools in Tetsurou's stomach, he knows, has been cautioned, what the fae will do once they have a human's name. It's akin to essentially giving yourself to them, for names hold power. 

For a moment, he considers it, the image of his mother flashing by, the scent of her hair and the way her voice sounds when she sings in the house. But he gathers his guts and clenches his fists. 

"I'm sorry, I can't give you my name. Can I give you something else?" He asks, heart hammering and knees trembling. 

A tiny smirk, so small Tetsurou believes he imagined it, appears on the faerie's face. With a sigh, he maneuvers himself onto the lowest branch and stretches out, limbs languid. 

"I'm bored, what can you entertain me with then?" He sounds almost petulant if Tetsurou would dare to call him that. Desperately, he casts about for anything. 

"I'm told I tell good stories," He ventures hesitantly, "Could I give you a story instead?" 

A heart stopping pause as the fae looks him over, a skinny ten year old with bloodied knees and an adamantly brave expression. 

"Very well," The faerie murmurs, "A good story then."

Haltingly, Tetsurou begins one, slowly gaining momentum as he goes until he's animated and gesturing, voice bringing various characters to life. 

There, in the middle of the forest, he weaves a short story full of drama and adventure, eyes never leaving the faerie's face, watching for any sort of reaction. 

When he finishes, the faerie blinks unreadable golden eyes at him and nods before vanishing into the thick foliage. 

Over the next few days, Tetsurou will strain for any breathlessness in his mother's voice, or for any coughing at all. But there's nothing, she's miraculously well. 

The triumph and happiness that blooms in his heart is enough to send him back to the same spot within the week. Bearing the sparse offerings of milk and honey, he tentatively begins the incantation only to be interrupted before the second sentence. 

"Why are you back?" The same faerie is perched on another branch, feet dangling with vines trailing over ankles and flowers dripping past toes, "Did your mother not recover?"

"She did!" Tetsurou falls over himself in his haste to assure him that she has indeed made a full recovery, "I came back to say thank you. And because I have another story I thought you might want to hear. You know, since you said you were bored."

The faerie blinks once and then makes a cursory glance, at the milk and honey. Tetsurou can swear the faerie's eyes light up when he sees them but it could be a trick of light. 

"You do not wish to ask me for anything?" The faerie asks in a low, melodious tone. 

"Not at all," Tetsurou insists, "But I thought of this story about a bear…"

And so it begins.

No one listens to Tetsurou's stories as attentively as the faerie and over time, he begins to discern the way minute expressions play out over the seemingly smooth face. 

The second or third time Tetsurou comes with only a story, some milk and honey and no request, the faerie swings down and places a cool, slim finger under Tetsurou's jaw. 

"Next time, you do not need to bring milk or honey, nor say any silly words. Dab some honey on your tongue and call me, I will come."

"Ho- How do I call you?" Tetsurou whispers, half awed and half terrified. The faerie smiles, silky and forbidding. 

"Call me Kenma."

Years pass and some things don't change, Tetsurou finds that he prefers the faerie's company over most of his human peers in the village and spends much of his time spinning tales in the lush green springtime or in the cool russets of autumn. 

Kenma comes almost without fail every time he calls and even though Tetsurou has been instructed not to bring the sweets, he tries to bring some milk or a fragment of honey when he can, for he has seen the soft happiness suffuse over Kenma's face when he samples it. 

The only times Kenma refuses to respond is in winter, when icicles form on branches and the snow crunches with each step that Tetsurou takes. He cannot tell if it is because Kenma is like the forest, asleep during winter, or if he simply refuses to emerge during this ghastly season because of the cold. 

Sometimes, Tetsurou asks about Kenma but the responses he gets are mysterious and curt, so he settles for gleaning what he can from their encounters. 

Things such as the way Kenma's eyes are sharp and bright, but that he prefers to close them in the sunlight, listening to Tetsurou hum a childhood ditty. Or that Kenma seems to be quiet, but when he offers his opinions, they are thoughtful and that he is often right, be it about random curiosities or troubles that Tetsurou is facing. 

It is only when Tetsurou overshoots Kenma in height that he begins to notice the luminosity of the faerie's skin, so fair that it looks like the glow from the moon is spilling out and over. It is also then that he starts to realise that he spends a lot of time thinking about Kenma, concocting stories that he thinks will draw Kenma in or bring a rare smile to his face. 

Or that a new type of honey is being sold at the marketplace and so he will spend the rest of the month scrimping and saving so that he can buy it for Kenma. (Kenma had been delighted by it, he hadn't said anything, but Tetsurou had spent years watching him by then, he could tell in the curve of those lips and the light in those brilliant eyes.)

When he begins training under a well-known fighter from a neighbouring village, Tetsurou hates the days spent away from home, away from Kenma. He saves up stories about his fellow trainees and they overflow weekly when he returns home for a break. 

The girls in the neighbouring village and even his own have been throwing him coy looks, but Tetsurou’s head is full of sword dances and fighting drills, of tales to tell and of Kenma. He’s not sure if he occupies Kenma’s thoughts the way Kenma does his, but it’s a ray of light to think about long lazy afternoons with the faerie, in the monotony of blocks and blows and learning the perfect etiquette for a warrior.

The next time it happens, Tetsurou bursts through the thicket with a jugful of milk and a pot of honey, the leaves in his messy dark hair and desperation in his eyes. The hour is late and the only sounds are of crickets and the occasional warble of a night bird. Otherwise, it is just Tetsurou’s uneven breathing and the panic rising in his ears. 

Normally, he would only come the following afternoon, for he has just arrived home from the neighbouring village, but tonight there is no time to waste. 

“Kenma,” He chokes, the honey on his tongue turning bitter in his anxiety, in the crowd of thoughts that flood his mind. 

In the gloom, he spots the white of a flower petal and the rush of a familiar fragrance steadies his heartbeat. 

“You are upset,” Kenma observes from his spot, just diagonally above Tetsurou. Although his voice has no particular inflection, he lands on the ground even before Tetsurou can set the offerings down and turns his gaze onto Tetsurou without so much of a glance at the items. 

“My sister,” Tetsurou’s voice is rough, from breathlessness or from emotion, he’s not sure, but he knows he cannot let this happen, “They’re marrying her off to a monster. He’s threatened to take back our lands if she doesn’t, but Kenma, I know what kind of man he is. I can’t- I can’t let her go with him.”

Tetsurou’s sister is three years older than Tetsurou’s seventeen and at this point, of marriageable age, but he knows she’s been reluctant to leave their parents, especially with him constantly being away for training. He’d never thought that they’d be forced into the corner like this. 

“Your sister,” Kenma hums thoughtfully, “Is she not in love with the blacksmith’s son?”

Tetsurou forgets to fret for a moment, staring at Kenma with wide eyes and then nodding fervently. 

“She is, but how-? Nevermind that, yes, she is,” He rakes a hand through already disheveled hair, “It’s not that she’s not strong enough to go, knowing her, she may murder that lousy cad, but I can’t- I’m not strong enough to send her to him, not when I know what he is."

For the second time since they met, Kenma asks for Tetsurou’s name and for the second time, Tetsurou declines. 

“Kenma, please,” Tetsurou is short of begging, Kenma’s eyes glitter in the dark and Tetsurou is both comforted and afraid, his heart throbbing and his chest squeezing, “Anything else, anything but that.”

“A kiss then,” Kenma states coolly, levelly meeting Tetsurou’s startled look, and Tetsurou only needs one inhale to process and one exhale to decide. 

In a single breath, he is striding over to Kenma and is a little pleasantly surprised that he needs to bend down slightly to meet Kenma’s lips. 

Despite his confidence in his decision, his bravado deserts him when he’s so close to Kenma, when his fingers graze pearly skin to cup a tiny, sharp face, when the scent of flowers in bloom is so strong that it’s almost dizzying. 

It’s intoxicating to be so close to Kenma, to notice that he doesn’t breathe very much nor is the shape of his pupils as round as they are oblong. Tetsurou is caught off guard by the long lashes that lower over that hypnotic golden gaze, by the small, cold hands that trip up the front of his shirt and grasp the material lightly, by the cool press of soft lips to his own. 

Kenma tastes richer than milk and sweeter than honey, he tastes like the morning dew that forms on the blades of grass and the way it looks for sunshine to distill through the afternoon air and treetops. 

When they break apart, Tetsurou is panting, pupils blown wide and heart racing for completely different reasons. Kenma is composed and even more enchanting than usual, lids half-lowered in a way that can only be labelled as sultry, lips red and slightly parted, he’s devastating. 

The next morning, the man Tetsurou’s sister is supposed to marry is found dead on his own property, surrounded by evidence of his corruption and tyranny. Tetsurou all but flies to the forest, honey on his tongue and Kenma’s name on his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Kenma appears, flowers blooming in his footprints as he traipses towards Tetsurou, “Did it not liberate her?”

“No, yes, it worked,” Tetsurou is incoherent with relief and with what he is about to attempt, “I just came to thank you. And to offer you a kiss, in case you wanted more.”

Kenma stops abruptly, an abundance of flowers suddenly twining up his feet and calves as he stares at Tetsurou with an unreadable expression, his dark, inky hair rippling in the breeze. 

He starts towards Tetsurou again, shaking the growing stems off gently before halting again. 

“You have no request?” Tetsurou shakes his head, “Only to offer your kisses.”

Tetsurou is nodding when Kenma reaches him and buries a cold hand in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that is scorching despite Kenma’s consistently low temperature. It’s heady and Tetsurou can’t feel his feet or his fingers but he can feel the icinness of Kenma through his clothes, the delicious grip of his hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder, the way it feels to ghost a hand at the small of Kenma’s back. 

It’s addictive, and Tetsurou never wants to stop. So they don’t; just as storytelling segued into long afternoons whiling the day away with Kenma, a kiss turns into two which grows into an irresistible attraction that cannot be fought. 

Neither asks for more, both are content with swallowing each other’s sighs and tracing an earlobe, mapping out the other’s mouth and tasting the heady mixture of milk and honey on tongue and lips. 

Something in Tetsurou falls into place and he realizes he wants for nothing more than to be with Kenma, talking to Kenma, in Kenma's arms and with Kenma's kiss on his lips. 

A year later, he's sent away to fight in a war that he knows nothing about, only to return a hero sought after by rich men and lords. He disappears into the forest as soon as he returns to his village, he'd only been able to steal time to come back by claiming that he needs to see his family, to pay respects to his parents and meet his newborn niece. 

It has been almost a year since he met Kenma and his shoulders have broadened, his skin has gotten tanner, his hands rougher. But Kenma fits into his arms exactly right and he still tastes like the most exquisite mix of milk and honey, of desire and something he's not quite allowed to have. 

"I have to go away again, they need me to fight for the nation's military," He tells Kenma, watching that lovely, incandescent face. But Kenma just nods and pulls him in for another kiss.

It is the winter of Tetsurou's twentieth year that Tetsurou staggers into the snow-laden forest, bare trees dark and brittle in the icy wind, his armor heavier than ever and his hands empty save for his sword. 

"Kenma," He chokes, no honey on his tongue, only despair and desperation. 

The wind is relentless and it forces him to his knees, his sword doesn't even clatter when he drops it and he stays there, still and chest heaving, Kenma's name on his lips. 

The snow blisters and his knuckles are a painful red, but Tetsurou sways, on his knees and one hand in the snow. 

"Kenma," He whispers, although he doubts it will be heard. After all, it's in the throes of a harsh winter, and he has nothing but himself—battle scars and broken soul. 

He's not sure how long he's there for, buffeted by the torrid winds and the frigid air pulling his temperature down. Yet, he stays, refusing to move, believing that he will come. 

And come he does. Tetsurou is so cold that Kenma's normally cool hands on his face, caressing it and tilting it up, are slightly warm in comparison. 

Kenma stands before Tetsurou, usual trailings of vines and flora absent, instead, he radiates an unmistakable sense of power, the way he did the day Tetsurou met him. 

He's here, solid and comforting, and Tetsurou is all at once ten and seventeen and twenty, pressing his forehead against Kenma's hip the way one does when reaching sanctuary. He notices belatedly that Kenma is barefoot even now and unthinkingly, his hand drifts down to check if Kenma is cold, fingers pressing against foot and ankle and he looks up to bright, golden eyes. 

There's a question in them that Kenma does not need to voice, Tetsurou can see it anyway. 

"The man I fight for wants a great many things, all beyond his means, all for wicked purposes, and he intends to fight his way to it," Tetsurou sighs, "I cannot leave for I will dishonor my family but I cannot fight for him, not when I know what kind of damage he intends to bring to innocents."

The question in Kenma's eyes changes and Tetsurou can read it clear as day. He grins, eyes soft and content, brimming with emotion. 

He stays on his knees, the ice seeping through the armor, leaves his hand on Kenma's hip, a comfort and an assurance, and looks up into Kenma's face like a supplicant. 

"My name is Kuroo Tetsurou," He declares, boldly and firmly, "And I would like to die by your hand."

And Kenma does something he has never done in the ten years that Tetsurou has known him. He smiles. 

It's a small one, pink lips tilting upwards slightly, but his eyes, his eyes are like starlight, blazing and burning and Tetsurou wants to fall into them and keep falling. 

"Tetsurou," His name in that voice has Tetsurou flushing and warmth suffusing his chest despite the freezing temperatures, "You may die a human's death, but from the day your lips touched mine, you will never truly die. Not while I am around."

Tetsurou gapes at him, unsure of what he means, completely lost and it probably shows on his face, for Kenma leans down and takes Tetsurou's hand. 

Guiding Tetsurou's finger along his bottom lip, Kenma pulls the finger away to show him a shimmering dust that glitters like fine ice particles. 

"Taste it."

So Tetsurou does, and it tastes like Kenma, richer than milk, sweeter than honey. 

"This is what kills you," Kenma continues, voice soft and soothing, "Or at least the human part of you. It works slowly but then again, you've had quite a few doses."

The understanding comes slow and then like a wave, all at once, crashing into Tetsurou with the flashbacks to every single near death experience he's had on the battlefield. 

"You've been mine for quite a while, Tetsurou," Kenma's voice is immeasurably fond and somehow, still unimaginably powerful, sending shivers down Tetsurou's spine and lighting a fire within his chest, "I was just waiting for you to decide if that was what you truly wanted."

"Yes," Tetsurou is gasping, because nothing else has ever felt so right, nowhere else has ever felt so safe and no one else has made him feel this way, "Yes, do with me what you will."

They find Kuroo Tetsurou's frozen form the next day. Or at least they think they do. 

But if you put out some milk and honey and call for him, he will come. And he will ask for your name. 

**Author's Note:**

> I should also be posting concurrently on [tumblr](https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/) as well. Come say hi!


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